


Quiet

by kaydeefalls



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-03
Updated: 2006-03-03
Packaged: 2017-10-08 01:50:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaydeefalls/pseuds/kaydeefalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is why Remus loves Sirius. A fic in four Novembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to rosewilliams and annavtree for the betas. Quotes and title taken from Paul Simon's song "Quiet".

It's November. Remus likes November. It's a quiet sort of month in which nothing in particular ever happens. Back at Hogwarts, the leaves have probably all turned by now, past their October vibrancy into dull browns and reds and falling, falling. Even here in London, where Remus does not want to be, there's a strange sort of stillness blanketing the city. People pass him by in heavy coats and scarves, their footsteps somehow muffled against the grey pavement, their voices muted in the long afternoon shadows.

He's just at the beginning of that hazy someday they'd always planned for but could hardly imagine, and it's not where he expected to be. He's not sure he likes it. But still, he welcomes the peace.

*

1\. Nine Novembers ago

Remus is bored. Bored, bored, bored. He hates the hospital wing, because it smells too clean and is so quiet it makes his head hurt. And when he tries to think about things that aren't his head hurting, he tends to think about all the other parts of him that also hurt, and that's not much better. Madam Pomfrey is nice but she doesn't talk much because she thinks it's bad for him, which is stupid but Remus never disagrees with grown-ups. Maybe someday he'll be old enough and brave enough to stand up to her, but right now he's just a second-year and he's pretty sure she could come up with worse things to do to him than too much quiet and he doesn't want to find out what they might be.

He kind of wishes he had his old comic books, the Muggle ones he left at home when he came to Hogwarts because his dad said that he'd have better things to read here. His dad was mostly right, but Remus misses the garish colors and ridiculous stories and pictures that didn't move but looked alive all the same. He tried to explain this to Sirius once, but Sirius is a pure-blood to the core and he just laughed and teased Remus about it for weeks. Remus didn't mention it again.

God, he's so _bored_. He looks out the window next to his bed. It's deceptively sunny outside, the sort of late-autumn weather that makes Remus's friends dash outside in just their school robes and then dash back in after half an hour because it's a lot colder than it looks and they forgot their coats. Remus puts his hand up against the window pane and can feel the cold seeping through the glass; he closes his eyes and pretends he's out there kicking through dead leaves and daring Peter to talk to the Giant Squid and breathing out puffs of white mist that sparkle against the sunlight. Maybe tomorrow, if Pomfrey says he's well enough.

"Remus?"

And Remus very nearly has a heart attack and maybe that's why Pomfrey likes the quiet so much, because noise really _can_ kill you. He yelps and ducks down under his blankets to hide the bandages from Sirius, Sirius who _should not be here_, and thinks maybe dying of a heart attack would have been preferable to facing his friend. "I'm not here," he says, voice muffled by the blankets, and it's quite possibly the dumbest thing he's ever said so he sends up a brief prayer to Whoever Might Be Up There that Sirius will have a sudden case of stupid and believe him and go away.

"You're a terrible liar," Sirius says, and it sounds like he might be laughing.

Remus hates being laughed at, so he pokes his head back up out of the blankets indignantly. "Am not," he says. "Well, not normally. Go away, Sirius."

"Won't," Sirius says breezily, and comes over and plops down on Remus's bed. "Such a waste, after all. Peter and James are distracting Pomfrey, ask them about it later, it was a brilliant idea and Peter doesn't have many, so it's quite notable. It'll take her ages to sort it all out. Meanwhile, I've been sent to bring you this." He pulls a large bag of indiscriminate origins out of his robes and hands it to Remus. "Chocolate Frogs. Loads of them. Peter donated his whole secret stash. And James put in some other sweets, not sure what, wouldn't trust them if I were you."

"Sirius," Remus says, and he realizes his hands are shaking uncontrollably. He clasps them together tightly and takes a deep breath. "Sirius, how did you know I was here?"

Sirius just looks at him, and Remus catches a glimpse of something strange in his eyes, something he can't read.

"It's all right," Sirius says, unusually gentle. "We know."

"Oh," Remus says. _Oh._

"It's all right," Sirius says again, intensely. "It doesn't matter. We're your _friends_, Remus. Nothing's going to change that."

And Remus lets out a breath he's been holding for over a year, and offers Sirius a hesitant smile.

They sit like that for a moment, just looking. Then Sirius opens the bag and sheepishly pulls something that's not candy out of it. "Thought you might be bored."

It's a comic book. A Muggle comic book, one of the earliest issues of _X-Men_. Remus had read it years ago, but now it shines in his hands as though it's brand new.

"I asked Evans to get it for me," Sirius says awkwardly. "You don't want to know what I've promised her in exchange, believe me. She says her Muggle friends back home used to really like this one, but it just looks like a bunch of blokes in silly outfits to me."

"They're mutants," Remus says, still staring at the comic in wonder. "Kind of like having magic, sort of, but each of them has different powers. And they work together to help normal people. But the normal people don't like them because they're different."

"Normal people are stupid," Sirius says softly, then clears his throat and grins. "So let's read it, then. You can explain it to me."

And this is why he loves Sirius, Remus thinks giddily. Because Sirius can be a bit of an arse sometimes, but he always knows exactly how to make Remus feel better.

It's a quiet afternoon, but a good sort of quiet.

*

_I am heading for a time of quiet  
When my restlessness is past  
And I can lie down on my blanket  
And release my fists at last_

*

2\. Five Novembers ago

It's been a week since the full moon, but Remus is still sore. It had been a bad night. To put it mildly.

Remus walks slowly but determinedly around the lake, ignoring his aching muscles. He feels much older than sixteen. This is how it will be for the rest of his life, he thinks grimly. Growing too old too young. This is what being a werewolf does to his body, this premature aging. Last full moon had been his worst yet, but they'll all take their toll.

_This is who I am._

He's glad to be alone today, here by the lake, where he doesn't have to see people staring at the fresh, ugly scars that cut across his face, where he doesn't have to deal with James's embarrassment or Peter's awkward, inane babble. Where he doesn't have to face Sirius. He's avoided Sirius fairly successfully all week; maybe he can keep it up for the rest of his life.

Maybe he can just keep walking forever, and never look back.

He can't, of course. His leg muscles are screaming and he's worried he might reopen the gash on his calf, so he finds a boulder on the lakeshore and sits carefully, wincing. The lake looks lovely, grey and peaceful. It's a chilly day, very November, grey and drizzling, but the clouds loom majestically and the lake reflects the changing skies. The drizzle turns into a light rain, cold and refreshing. Remus closes his eyes and tilts his face up to the sky, letting the water trickle down his cheeks and seep into his scarf and collar. He feels cleansed.

He hears a crackling, whispering sound, like an animal shuffling through the underbrush by the shore, and sighs. He doesn't open his eyes, even when he feels something nudging his knee. "I don't want a pet, Sirius."

There's a beat of silence, as Sirius shifts back.

"I know," he mumbles.

With an effort, Remus pulls himself back into the real world. He looks over at his former friend. Just looks.

Sirius seems smaller, somehow. Younger. He's shorter than Remus, Remus realizes in surprise. Funny, how Remus had never noticed that before. Maybe because Sirius always carried himself like he owned the world, like he was the biggest and strongest and most impressive student at Hogwarts, and Remus had always bought into it.

Until a week ago, Remus thought Sirius was the sun and the moon and the stars, everything bright and wonderful. Now he can see that Sirius is just human. Well, and sometimes dog. But mostly human.

And Remus isn't angry anymore.

"I'm so sorry," Sirius whispers.

"I know," Remus says, trying on a smile. It almost fits. "It's okay."

Sirius grins brilliantly, and Remus remembers why he used to think Sirius was the sun. Something makes the air between them tingle and quiver with some strange new energy, and Remus sits very still, caught and wondering.

"Come on," Sirius says. "It's really miserable out here, let's go back to the castle." He reaches out a hand to help Remus up.

Remus takes it, and finds himself abruptly yanked into a very tight hug. Which might be nice, except his still-sore body is _not_ happy. "Ow," he says.

"Sorry," Sirius says hastily, loosening his hold. His face flushes.

"It's all right," Remus says. And maybe it will be. He touches Sirius's cheek hesitantly, and Sirius looks up. Their eyes meet.

When Sirius lifts his head up and presses his lips to Remus's, it's not the way Remus used to imagine their first kiss might be. It's quiet and desperate and drowning, and it's Sirius who's falling and Remus who's holding them both up, but that's all right. Everything is going to be all right.

This is why he loves Sirius. Because Sirius _needs_ Remus. No one else has ever needed him before.

Remus clasps the back of Sirius's neck and kisses him back.

*

3\. Two Novembers ago

See, this is why Remus doesn't particularly like London. Because it's not even December yet and already there are Christmas decorations _everywhere_. 'Tis the season to support our capitalist economy, and all that rot. Not that Remus doesn't like Christmas. It's a lovely holiday. But it's a lovely holiday that comes around at the _end of December_, and all this grossly premature holiday spirit just reminds him that he doesn't have enough money to buy his friends the presents he thinks they'd actually like, and instead he'll wind up giving everyone cheap candy again. As usual. Which he supposes is still a step up from his book-buying days, because at least they'll get some use out of the sweets.

But Christmas is still a full month away, so Remus isn't thinking about that. He's thinking that he really needs to talk to Dumbledore about this whole Order business, because his supervisor at the Muggle bookshop is already getting suspicious about the once-a-month absences and Remus is worried that if Dumbledore sends him on any missions, he'll get sacked. The Order is more important to him than the bloody job, of course, but he needs the money. Badly.

He ducks around a corner into a narrow alleyway, and heads down it far enough to be out of easy view from the street. Once he's sure no Muggles can see him, he Apparates back to his flat.

He hates this flat. It's tiny and cramped and ugly, and the building it's in is starting to fall apart. And no matter how many cleaning spells Remus tries, it always feels dingy. There are roaches in the kitchen and his bed is small and creaky, and his sofa is worn and saggy and has a Sirius on it.

"Some people would consider it rude to hang about uninvited in other people's flats," Remus informs him.

Sirius grins. "One of your strange Muggle notions, I presume."

"Right," Remus says. He glances about for a place to sit; he thinks the sofa might collapse if it has to support the weight of two people. There's a cracked chair halfway between the living room and the kitchen. It'll do for now. He sinks down onto it with a sigh. "So why are you here?"

Sirius makes his best wounded puppy expression. "To see you, my darling Moony." Remus flips him the bird, and Sirius laughs. "Actually, I've got news. Or, rather, James has news, but he's delegated me to deliver it because he thinks your flat has fleas."

"If it does, it's all your fault. What news?"

"Lily's pregnant."

Remus blinks. "That _is_ news."

Sirius sprawls across the sofa, resting his chin on the arm closest to Remus. The sofa groans in complaint. "It is, isn't it? Can you imagine James and Lily as _parents_?"

"Parents." Remus tries the word out. It tastes funny. "Parents at age twenty. We're too young for this, Sirius."

"Well, I wasn't saying it's something _we_ should do," Sirius says with a wink.

Remus glares at him. "You know what I mean."

Sirius rolls over onto his back, looking somewhat like a dog that wants its belly rubbed. "It's the whole war thing, I think," he comments, unusually thoughtful. "That's why they got married so quick, too. No knowing how much time any of us has left."

If he thinks about that too much, Remus will go mad. So he takes the easy route, and quirks his eyebrow. "You looking for one last shag, then?"

Sirius grins. "Hell, yeah. My place, though. Yours has fleas." He jumps up and Apparates away before Remus has a chance to protest, and Remus has no choice but to follow.

Later, as he lies in Sirius's decadently large bed, body firmly entwined with Sirius's, his mind wanders. It's nice being here, just enjoying the quiet. They don't have much time for this these days. He wonders if they'll have less and less as the months go by.

"There's an Order meeting later tonight," Sirius mumbles into Remus's shoulder. "We should probably get up soon."

Reality intrudes again. Remus sighs. "Do you think Dumbledore will have more...assignments for us?"

Sirius looks up with a snort. "Seems likely, I think. You might not have noticed, Remus, being so busy with that bookshop and all, but there is a war on."

Remus gives him a sharp nudge in the side with his elbow. "Yes, thank you."

"What's it really matter, anyway?" Sirius asks. "It's what we signed up for, right?"

"I know," Remus says. "It's just...if I have to go off or something, I'll probably lose my job." It sounds trite even to him.

Sirius sits up and looks at him curiously. "So what? It's a shit job, anyway. You're always complaining about it."

"I've got to pay rent somehow," Remus says curtly. "Not all of us have rich uncles who leave us massive sums of money."

"So move in with me," Sirius says, studying the bedspread with deliberate nonchalance.

After a moment, Remus lets out a short, astonished laugh. "You're not serious."

Sirius smiles crookedly. "But I am." His voice is quiet and warm and hesitant, all at once, and he can't quite meet Remus's eyes.

This is why he loves Sirius. Because...well, because he just _does_.

"Okay," Remus says softly.

"Okay," Sirius agrees.

*

_I am heading for a time of solitude  
Of peace without illusions  
When the perfect circle  
Marries all beginnings and conclusions_

*

4\. November 1981

Here in London, where Remus does not want to be, a cold breeze toys with the fringe of his threadbare scarf as he makes his way up the narrow street. He has nothing but the wand in his pocket and the knapsack on his back. He's just left Sirius's place, which he can no longer call home, where he'd gathered up all his worldly possessions and discovered that they all fit neatly into the knapsack. Nothing else in that house was his.

At the end of this street there's a small, narrow building. He goes inside and up one flight of the rickety staircase. There are two doors on the landing; he opens the one on the left. The door is unlocked. Peter must have left in a hurry, that last time.

Peter's flat is small and cluttered. It looks a bit like a tornado has gone through it, papers and clothing and all the other little facets of life strewn about. Peter had always been messy. Remus remembers their dormitory back at Hogwarts, which had been as untidy as one might expect from a group of teenaged boys, but Peter's corner had been a disaster area. His habits hadn't changed after graduation.

This is the only place Remus could think of to come to. He sets his knapsack down by the door and starts tidying up.

It would be faster and easier to use magic. Remus doesn't. He has all the time in the world. Quietly, efficiently, he folds clothes and replaces them in the chest of drawers. He makes the bed and organizes the clutter on top of the chest and on the windowsill. He straightens the couch cushions and gathers the papers into a neat pile on a chair. He washes the dishes in the sink and puts them away in their cupboards. He clears off the little table in the kitchen and wipes it clean with a wet rag. He just keeps going and going until the flat is acceptably neat.

Then he makes himself a cup of tea, finds one of Peter's old schoolbooks to read, and settles in at the table to wait.

After half an hour, he realizes that he's been reading the same page over and over and not registering a word of it. He keeps trying anyway.

The owl comes through the kitchen window, which Remus thoughtfully left open for it. It drops the letter onto the open pages of the book and perches quietly on the tabletop to wait for Remus's reply.

Remus unrolls the parchment. He already knows who it's from, and what it says, but it's only polite to read it over anyway.

_There's still a lot of work to be done,_ the letter reads in Dumbledore's flowing script. _Gideon Prewett's death last month left us in need of a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. I do not make this offer out of pity; we need and value your skills. Come back to Hogwarts, Remus._

Remus doesn't bother searching for a new scrap of parchment. He goes to the door and finds his quill and ink in his knapsack, then returns to the table. After a moment's thought, he writes a few words at the bottom of Dumbledore's letter.

_Ask me again when James and Lily's son is old enough to need me._

He rolls the parchment back up and hands it back to the owl, who takes it delicately in its beak.

"Return it to Dumbledore," Remus says quietly.

The owl takes flight, nimbly ducking out the kitchen window. Remus watches it go until it's just a speck of brown against the cloudy sky.

He cleans up the tea things and replaces Peter's book where he found it. He supposes he could live here for a few days, long enough to sort things out in his head, but that would just be delaying the inevitable. Besides, London is too noisy. He wants to go somewhere quiet.

He slings his knapsack over his shoulder and leaves the flat, locking the door carefully behind him. Back on the street, he pauses for a moment, letting the wind tease through his hair and brush cold fingers against his cheek. He closes his eyes and makes the decision.

He thinks he'll just pick a direction and start walking, and just keep going forever. There's nothing waiting ahead of him, but then, there's nothing behind him either.

This is why he hates Sirius. Because Sirius killed James and Lily and Peter, but he left Remus alive.

He turns and walks away from his old life, and never looks back.


End file.
